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VOLUME I. OXFOlil), N. 0., WEDNESDAY, EElMiUAUV J7, IH?.'). NtJJIBEU 7. !S3^f.JE€TSi:S> FUOM THK CllATTi-nnOX. I\OCOI>Y’S CHAPTER I.—roLI.Y S INTRODUCTION. “Well, 1 never! if there isn’t that child sitting again on tlie steps, -when it isn’t ten inhmtos ago I told her 1 really could not have it.” The s])eaker, Mrs. Kelliek, tap ped shaq)ly on the window pane, and a small figure rose (piickly from the door-steps outside and liurried away into the gloom of a dam]) November evening. “ I cannot tliink,” continued Mrs. Kcdlick, “why Jfother Fur- niedge always locks her out. She is not a misciiievous child, least- ways 1 have never found lier so ; and if Mother k'unnedge dosen’t like leaving the door open, I could keep the key if the child could not. T almost wash some times as Kellick would not keep the old body on. Not but what the poor old soul pays regular enough, but them dust heap peo ple are sucli a queer lot. When ilr. Smithers set up his heap, Kcdlick and me agreed we ne^ er would have any of the dust-peo ple ill the house; and sure enough, for some time, we kept our word, and always thougiil tliat was win'- house looked the neatest in the Gardens, d'heu Mr. JOIK'S, Smither’s overseer, took our first iloor, and when ])0')r old Mrs. Tartrn.lD-o died, as come with us from the City-road, and tlie back kitclien stood empty ever so long, Kellick said he was not rich enough fio- tluU to goon, Mo we took in old Furmedge and liis wife; specially as Mr. Jones said lie thought they wasn’t much to look at, tlicy were steady go ing, honest old folks, that we might tnist for the rent. That is nearly eight years ago! Deary me, how^ the years do run on, to he sure ! M^hy, Mary, that was tlie summer you and Joseph JToon met in this very room. But you are not going yet f’ “Ye.s, thank yon, Mrs. Kel lick,” answered Mary Jloon, a bright-looking young -wife and motlier. “I must get liome ; it is pretty nigh six o’clock now, and 1 like to get baby and Joey in bed, and the place tidied up a bit, before Joseph comes in. Youll be sure and step in on your way to cburch Sunday I It don’t seem natural-like if "we don’tmeet then, and Joseph always likes his chat and walk to church with IMr, Kellick.” So saying, Mrs. Moon wrap])ed her baby in her shawl, said, “Good night,” and turned her steps briskly to her own house, some few streets otf, leav ing Mrs. Kellick to wash uj) her tea things, and h«ave all ready for her liusbajid’s return. But all the things were not washed up, A basin was taken down from the cupboard, and the last drain from the tea-pot and milk jug put in, -^diich, with some boiling water made a hot, if not a strong draught. Then a good hunch of bread was cut from the loaf, after which Mrs. Kellick opened the door and peered downi “the Gardens,” with a half grum ble to herself of “IIoav foggy it is to be sure! I wish I had not sent that child off!” Finishing i more cheerfully with “llie, there! is that you, Polly t” “Yes, mum, its me,” answered a shrill voice, and a small, brisk person came out from the dark ness into the line of light thrown from tlie gas lamp acros.s door step. It was difficult to decide at a glance whether Polly was a woman or child. The large hoots and the long tattered dress, the waist of A\’hi(rh came nearer the ground than you somehow ex pected, and flapping black bon net, made you think she must be s,)mo tiny old woman, till your ideas were sudilenly upset b}' (what wa.s to the wearer, a sadly WKirrying raid frcqumit ov.cnr- reiice), the falling liack of the b ir bonnet; and tlie appearance of a pale chiLlish face, wiili anx ious dark eyes, and a mat of black hair. Polly was ten years old and small of her age. Why, slie was not much ah )ve halfway up the railing round Mrs. Kellick’s area: but then, you see, sjiending a good deal of time on door-ste])s, and a groat deal of uncoilaint)' as to food, are not the best things to make little folks grow strong and tali. “Are yon very wet, Pollyf’ asked Mrs. Kellick. “ Not so ver\', mum,” answered Polly: “ 1 would have stayed at the bottom of the stairs bv Gran nie’s room, only it got so dark, I was a bii afraid I might chance to dro]) ( ff astec}). and 1 thought Mr. T'ma.ids might fall over me whv.'ii he came in from worlc; and die last time he was that angry he told me next time lie caught me at them games he’d brake ev ery bf>ne in my body. So 1 thought, so .‘ing as how }’ou did not like to see me littering about on the dooi*-ste])s, Td just take a look round some where, where there was a bi^ of shelter, till it was nearer Grannie’s coming home. She’s a bit late to-iiiglit, but I dare say she won’t be veiy long now.” “I suppose your boots are thick with mud,” said Mrs. Kel lick, looking at the large pair on the child's small feet “ AYell, never mind, give them a good scraping and a rub on them two mats, and just step in here and have a warm, it is a raw cold night.” Polly stepped in, and was soon seated on a low stool in front of Mrs. Kellick’s fire. “ Oil! how comfortable it all was to be sure !” Polly thought; and, “fancy, too, her sitting in a real parlor, all so briglit and clean, and by suck a large fire, too, eating and drinking like a queen, while Mrs. Kellick was Avashing up and behaving just like a servant'to her !” She had often looked in at the door Avhen Mrs. Kellick asked her to run er rands, but she had never thought till now what a cosy room it was. AVhat a beautiful red and green carpet it liad ! and how glad she Avas Mrs. Kellick had laid a bit of sacking for her to put her dirty boots on! But silence AA'as not much in Polly’s line Avlien she had any one to talk to, and Avhen fire, tea and bread, had wanned her small person, she plucked uj) courage to saA', “ Well, 1 noA'cr did taste such bread as tills afore; you never got it at White’s, mum ?” “ Yes,” rc})]ied Mrs. Kellick, pleased at Polly’s relish for her rcjiast. “ Mr. Kellick and me have dealt at White’s this many a year; and White lias ser\-ed us well, I must say that for him.” “ Then its ‘firsts,’ ” ausAvored Polly, smacking her ll])s. “I don’t helicA'C as Iioav I cakw ta.sted Jirsts afore; the)* are just about nice ! Grannie always has seconds, but they isn’t fit to hold a candle to this. But hoAV deal- OA’crything is to he sure ! Why, meat is risen that high poor folks cjui’t taste a hit from week’s end to Aveek’s end. How I did Avisli 1 had Iburpence just now to be sure! I went round Trot- inan s just for something to do, and gave a look round, and there Avas a bit of meat ticketed five and a half pence ; it Avould just have done for Grannie’s Suuday dinner. Trutman himself Avas standing there, and AV'hen he sees what I Avas looking at he says, “Polly, you shall liave that ere little bit for four pence.” I thouglit it Avere that kind of him I could have cried, and ho too AA itli such a lot of little children and a sick Avife 1 But I had no foiirpences or twopences, so I was' obliged to say, “No, thank you, Mr. J’ri.)tman.” But Grannie is not come hack yet, she may have stcp])ed in somewhere and got u bit of something.” Airs. Kellick, Avho had finkshed tid\ ing up, and for tlie last foAv minutes had been watching the child, put her hand into her pocket. l-'light as the inoA'cmcnt was, Polly’s quick eyes caught it; and jumping up from her seat she exclaimed, Avhile the color rushed into her face—“Please, mum, don’t do that! I did not mean U* ask you for anything when I said that about ‘tAvopences;’ mo and Grannie is that comfi./i'table avc don’t want for nothing; but sonie- liow Avhat with the tea and fire, it seemed as if you wmre kind of friendlike, and I AA'ent a-talking too much and forgot it Avasn’t manners to go a-staying like this.” Mi\s. Kellick smiled and said, “You have not stopped too long, Polly, but I think I hear the master, putting Ills key into the door so, suppose you roll up the sacking and see if Mr. Furmedge has come in.” Polly did as she wms bid; and making a bob-curtsey as she left the room, slipped out into the dark passage, Avhile Mr. Kellick Avas AAuping his feet. She w’as quickly doAvn the stairs and at the back kitchen door wdiich she found open, and ‘Grannie’ inside the room, striking a match to light her candle. “ Grannie,” or more properly speaking, Mrs. Furmedge, had just succeeded in lighting her candle, Avhen Polly entered, and the pale flame of the dip threw a bickering light over the old avo- man’s person. AVhat a strange old face lieFs looked to be sure ! Avitli all the wrinkles marked out strongly by being filled wfitli the dust she had been sifting all dav. And noAv she has put the cau dle on the small three-legged ta ble, you can see slie is sliort and a good deal bent, and tliat her ragged skirt has above it a man’s coat, and that her grey locks— Avliich will straggle out—are cov- enid by a lilack bonnet, tlie very ditto of tlie one Avliich hangs down Po]l}'’s back. “ You are allays out of the Avay just as I wants yon!” Avas hei first greeting to Polly. “Now do hustle about and got a hit of fire; I’m dowmright parching for a drop of tea! and don’t go break- ing your bones over the sifter I” i Polly’s bonnet is off noAv and hung on a peg in a corner of tlie tiny room, and she looks quite read}' to bustle about, as slie moA'es Grannie’s big sieve aAva}' from the old woman’s feet to its place beliind the one Ioav cliair by the fire. The liglit from the candle w'as after a bit added to by a faint glow from tlie fire-place^ and then what a room became visi ble ! small, damp, untidy, AA'retch- ed I Tlie greater part was filled by. a low' stump bed-stead, Avith no bedding, but the sac/fing was cov ered by the remains of a tattered quilt. Close at its foot stood the three-legged table, between Avliich and the tire and Grannie’s chair there was just room to pass, and no more. The rest of the fittings were, a box turned bottom up wards, a tea-pot and a foAv cups and plates. Folly bustled about, filled tlie ^ttle, and put on tiie tea-pot, wliile Mrs. Furmedge opened a bas/;et, and produced a small pac/i'ot of tea, a loaf and a papei of peri-Aviu/rles. “Wiii/des, Gran nie,” cried Polly, Avlion tliey Avere shaken out on a phite. “ How nice I w'hy its ever so long since we had any!” “ I was down at the heap in good time this morning,” replied the old woman, “and had a run of luci*. Got two finds—a tor toise shell and a Avhite—AY'liich brought mo in two shillings. But I had a bit of a wait to get my money, as the dealers Avere late, niost of ’em, and when I had done with them, I was only just in time to stop the winHe man. But what are you looAiug liA:© that for, Polly r No wonder Mrs. Furmedge as^- ed such a question. Polly was standing with the Settle in her hand, while her eyes wandered from point to point of tlio tiny room. Had her visit to Mrs. Kellick’s comfortable parlor opened her eyes to the defects of her own so- called home*? Had the cleanliness and comfort of that showed her the dust, dirt and Avretchedness of Mother Fuamedge’s back kitchen? Perhaps it had, and Polly’s poor little heart felt a touch of envy at what seemed to her the grand comfort of the front room up stairs. Grannie’s voice called her back to herself, and she was soon seat ed at the table busy picking out her winkles with a brass pin, and talking away bright as over to the old Avonian of her day’s adven tures. “I never see such a liea.p of things in a room afore, and Ml’S. Kellick AA'as tliat kind I could have gone and kissed her, if I had only been a bit clean and tidy-like;” and Jkdiy paused to take a survey of lier small black hands. The inspection did not a])])ear to affect iier appetite in any Avay, as .she Avas soon at work again on lier labors Avitb tlie pin, till she stojiped short, exclaiming: “ Why, Grannie, you’ve eaten nothing hut the very little ones yonrself, and are a-j)iling up my set Avith tlie big ones.” “ ddial’s my lookout, I sup pose,” said the old w’oman, who, lor the last fiA'e mimites had ]>een watching the child’s plea.9ure w’ith a strange look on her liard o’d face. Was it possilile that with in that oddly clad person theio was a loving heart ? or Avas theie a tear standing in the deep-sunk e}'es, and ready almost to make a path down the dusty old cheek, when she loo/ced at lier small companion ? “ You aUvays had a liHng for win/dcs, oven when you was no higher than the master’s /mee 1 Ble.ss liim I afore ho was took iiad, many and many’s tlio lialf penny, us ho said to mo coming home, “Let’s buy a AvinAIe or two for the little maid. ’ As I -was going to the heap this morning, It all of a sudden come into my mind that this were the very day you came to us, and I says to myself, Polly shall have a winilo by hoo/: or by crooA; and sure enough tlie very first thing I chqiped mv .eyes on wore that tortoise shell. (To be Coniitiued) Ifloro. Cultivfito singing in tlie family. Begin when the child ia not yet three years old. The song and hymn your mother sang, bring them all back to memory and teach tlicm to your little ones, mix them altogether, to meet tlio similar moods, as in after life they come over us so mysteriously sometimes. Many a time and oft, in the very whirl of business, in the sunshine and gayety of"Fifth Avenue and amid the splendor of the drives in Central Park, some little thing wakes up the memo ries of early youth, the old mill, the cool spring, the shady tree by the little school house, and the next instant we almost see the rud dy cheeks, the smiling faces, and the merry eyes of schoolmates, some grayheaded now, most "lie mouldering in the grave.” And anon “the song my mother sang” springs unbidden to the lips jand soothes and sweetens all these memories- At other times, amid the crush ing mishaps of businnss, a merry ditty of the olden time pops up its little head breaks in upon the ugly train of thought, throws the mind into another channel, light breaks in from behind the cloud in the sky and a new courage is given to us. The honest mangoes singing to his work, and when the day’s labor is done, his tools laid aside, and he is on his way home, where wife and child and tidy table and cheery fireside await him, he can not help but whistle or sing. The _ burglar never sings. Moody silence, not thomerrj'song, weighs down the dishonest trades man, the perfidious clerk; the un faithful servant, the perjured piU't- ucr.—Hall's Journal.
The Orphans’ Friend (Oxford, N.C.)
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Feb. 17, 1875, edition 1
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